Growing up I was the fat girl. I had a killer personality, but no one wanted to see me in a bathing suit, let alone in the buff. It wasn’t until much later than the rest of my friends that I had my first anything: kiss, date, boy who liked me as more than the girl who made him laugh in Social Studies.

Needless to say, when I finally did come into my own and learned how to make out with boys at parties, I went sorta…well, nuts. I was lengths behind my friends and felt the need to catch up.

“Oh, you hooked up with 10 boys since your first kiss at 11? Fine! I’ll hook up with ten this weekend!”

It was fun and exciting and I was finally able to take part in all the story telling with my friends. Every night was an opportunity for me to find another story to share, so I took any and every guy that came my way. Sure, it was probably not the best idea, but I was young and free and making up for lost time.

And the stories were well worth it. Read More »

God, I remember my first kiss. I remember thinking that it tasted like bananas and then I remember thinking, “Sh*t, I hope this gets better or I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

Turns out, it got better. The kissing got better, the men I kissed got better, the touching, the sweaty make-out sessions and the ridiculous hormones that flew about with reckless abandon, that all got better and definitely got put to use, frequently.

Then, I remember my “first time”. I remember thinking that it was short. Fumbling and awkward. And then I remember thinking, “Sh*t, I hope this get’s better or I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”

Well, yippee…it got better. A lot better. For myself and my friends included. Read More »